


no rest for these tired eyes

by 4RU



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/F, HAROLD THEY'RE LESBIANS, Hurt/Comfort, Not a lot of dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4RU/pseuds/4RU
Summary: It's amazing how being erased from existence can really mess with your sleep schedule.





	no rest for these tired eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Of course I was going to write something for my favorite girls. Implied U7 tournament win and U6 Resurrection via Dragon Ball Ex Machina (I mean that's pretty much canon at this point anyway even if Toei tries to drag it out for the drama). [Title music.](https://youtu.be/Tuu60jDH9xo)

Caulifla can’t sleep.  
  
It’s not that she’s wide-awake; she isn’t. Her eyelids cannot stay open without effort and her body is floating in that state that lies somewhere between exhaustion and aching soreness. But on the ratty mattress in some corner of her hideout her muscles tense and the channel of her mind’s eye clicks back through white noise and insect-static.  
  
It shouldn’t be so terrifying. It honestly, truly shouldn’t. Yet her heart beats against her ribs and cold sweat plasters her hair to her brow. No amount of gritting her teeth and clenching her fists makes it go away, either.  
  
They had _died_. Well, no. What had happened had been worse than death. With death they could still have existed beyond their physical bodies, transcending the planes of something logic and science couldn’t explain. No, they’d been _erased_. Gone. Just like that. Nothing left but the memories of those who had personally known them. Billions upon trillions of people _gone_ , with only ten or thirteen even having the luxury of being _remembered_.  
  
She doesn’t recall it, of course. One can’t remember something that doesn’t exist. But Caulifla knew it had happened. It hadn’t even sunken in then, when the announcement came and her Universe ceased to be by the whim of two childish gods and the push of a button. She’d been too angry, too frustrated. She hadn’t even noticed the sniffling tears behind her or the touch of shaking, hesitant fingers to her bicep.  
  
Not until she stopped and thought long and hard and her own mind scolded her with all the possibilities of things that could have gone different. That’s where the fear truly lies. Not wholly in non-existence, but in all the things she could have done differently. Everything she could have said, every action she could have taken, everything that might have changed if she had paid attention.  
  
All she wants is sleep. Maybe to forget, too. It’s been over twenty-four hours (more, perhaps, how does one measure time when time didn’t exist). She’s _tired_. Tired, but hyper-vigilant. Even with the cooling unit humming low she can hear the sound of footsteps approaching.  
  
It’s Kale. Of course it’s Kale. Caulifla doesn’t even need to crack her eyes open to see her best friend standing there. She does, of course, and that is effort alone, forcing her eyelids to peel back and her head to move. Her heart aches all the more at the sight of the other girl, her hair down, the makeup gone and dark circles visible under her pretty gray eyes.  
  
“Can’t sleep?” She doesn’t need to ask it. Kale looks as bad as Caulifla feels. Caulifla knows her well – even better now, in a weirdly intimate way. A byproduct of the earrings, of fusing, of coming together to make Kefla. There’s no more secrets between them, just things neither of them have opted to talk about. So she knows, not just from years of being Kale’s friend and teacher, but from _that_ that she is going to apologize before the half-second passes where she molds her lips around the first syllable.  
  
And because she knows, and is keenly aware of how it will progress if she lets Kale’s sad mood gain traction, Caulifla does her the kindness of nipping it in the bud fast. “Me neither.”  
  
Then she shifts on the mattress and opens her arms invitingly. Kale hesitates, so Caulifla smiles and wiggles her fingers to entice her. Silly, but it does the trick. Soon the springs creak under added weight and Kale is shuffling close, pressing her face into Caulifla’s neck. It’s uncomfortable – her bed is too small for two people and Kale is clinging so close and tightly that she’s doing her best attempt at burrowing into Caulifla’s bones, but she doesn’t push her away. Her hands find long hair, feel out for her cheeks and neck, touch shaking shoulders, and her heart breaks just a little more to hear the sound of suppressed whimpers.  
  
It isn’t hard to think Kale would be just as affected by the so-called tournament. It isn’t hard to think she would be worse off, either. Pessimism, depression, and failure don’t make for a good combination. Comforting Kale isn’t difficult. A whispered promise that things were okay, a gentle squeeze here or there. Touching and holding. And maybe it’s cheating, using what she learned as Kefla, but her lips touch Kale’s forehead and then linger there and the trembling stops all at once, so fast she might have thought she’d made a mistake if she didn’t _know_.  
  
Later they’ll have to train. They can’t afford not to with their universe so vulnerable to the whim of two bratty kids playing god. But Caulifla is a genius and Kale is a natural powerhouse and between the two of them, some more time to _learn_ , and the new pair of earrings in her pocket there’s no doubt in her mind that they can make notable headway.  
  
It’s not just about beating Goku any more, though oh she wanted victory so badly she could _taste_ it. No, now it’s about… about…  
  
Kale. Them. This.  
  
The realization sits heavy in her gut. For the first time Caulifla has more of a reason to fight. Not for fun, for the joy of being better, for the rush of putting idiots in their place. Now she wants to do it for someone else, for _Kale_. For the girl huddled in her arms, who fought at her side, who shared her mind and body.  
  
Caulifla isn’t ready to put a name to it, yet feels the urgency to do just that all the same. It pulls and festers. _Do it now, do it or there won’t be another chance--_ and oh fuck but she just wants to sleep and her mind to quit racing, to stop replaying those seconds in the bleachers where she ignored the crying, ignored the hand desperately seeking comfort on her arm.  
  
She bites her tongue until the sting brings tears to her eyes. Tomorrow. Maybe. There’s time now. Time she won’t squander away.  
  
For now she’ll hold Kale a little tighter and keep restless vigil. Neither of them will sleep, and Caulifla is frankly too tired to keep wrestling with her uncooperative body. No sleep, but they can rest and comfort each other in the silence of the night. Come morning she’ll have the strength to fight her own coward heart into submission.


End file.
